


We Choose Our Own Path

by Death_inspiresme



Category: Captain America: CIvil War (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Drinking, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, My First Fanfic, Older Man/Younger Man, Original Character(s), Please read the archive warning, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Has A Heart, peter is underage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2018-12-11 21:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11722920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Death_inspiresme/pseuds/Death_inspiresme
Summary: Tony's made a lot of stupid choices in his life, and he's a lot of things but most importantly he's a horrible decision-maker. Every story seems to end the same: him fucking it all up.But then he finds himself stumbling down a path guaranteed to end with regret, and he can't stop. Nothing good is going to come out of this, but if one thing's for sure Tony's not going to screw up this time.He's not going to make Peter Parker another one of his mistakes.*Tags may be updated as story continues*





	1. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fanfic. Like, ever. But after watching Spider-Man Homecoming 3 times I had to write this. So I apologise if there's any mistakes in the story, it's my first time and hopefully I'll improve.  
> I'm not sure how many chapters there'll be, or when the next one will be up. 
> 
> P.S. I'm a really shitty writer, so apologies in advance.

  Tony knows the boy's young; he has his sources. But when the door opens and he sees him in person for the first time, all baby-faced and hoodie clad-- he had to take a moment. This was the kid he had been monitoring for months (Tony refuses to call it stalking), the boy who apparently hasn't even hit puberty yet, if his high voice is of any indication.

 Then said kid turns, and his jaw goes slack as their eyes meet across the room. Tony's used to receiving such looks; he knows who he is, the effect he has on most-- but on the boy the expression of awe and admiration makes his heart flutter, and he can't help but smirk to himself.

 "Oh, Mister Parker, " Tony says coolly, turning around and properly facing the kid -- who was wearing a nerdy science pun t-shirt, he notes amusedly.

  "Um..." The boy stutters, yanking the headphones out of his ears. "Wha--what are you doing..." he trails off, awkwardly crossing and uncrossing his arms, stumbling over himself, and Tony shouldn't be finding all of this as endearing as it is. "Hey! Uh, I'm Peter," he says eventually.

 "Tony." Yeah, as if the kid doesn't know. He knows a fan when he sees one.

 Peter's arms are crossed across his chest again, eyes huge with child-like wonder as he fully takes in the sight of Tony in his living room; he's gaping a little. "What're you-- what're you doing here?"

 Tony launches into his rehearsed spiel about a made-up grant, seeing the kid fluster in confusion; meanwhile his aunt is overjoyed, exploding with questions. Peter handles it considerably well, though, laughing nervously about submitting the application as a surprise while sneaking glances at Tony.

 "Is this grant...got money involved or whatever? No?" He asks, and Tony can't help but notice how the kid's voice pitches up adoringly high-- higher than usual-- when addressing him.

 "Yeah, it's pretty well funded. Look who you're talking to," Tony says, only half joking. Peter gives him an awkward grin at that, and Tony clears his throat, turning to his aunt.

 "Can I have five minutes with him?"

 

 

  Peter leads him to his room, surprisingly cluttered with clothes and books. Tony heads straight for the trashcan and spits out the mouthful of bread in his mouth, and when he looks up he meets the boy's wide-eyed gaze.  
"As walnut date loaves go, that wasn't bad," he says casually, then surveys his surroundings. There's a pile of junk on the side of the room, and Tony raises an eyebrow as he addresses them. Peter answers cautiously, and Tony can see that the boy's still reeling from his surprise visit.

 "Uh, the garbage, actually."

 "You're a dumpster diver?" Tony states, although his heart does tug a little as he realises the kid's predicament-- a high-schooler living in a run-down apartment with his aunt, the only living member left of his family (Tony did his research); having to deal with his new... problems, himself. Many don't pin Tony as a good guy, but he's certainly not an asshole, so he drops the matter quickly and gets down to business. He whips out his phone and displays the footage, and through the lit-up screen he sees Peter's face pale as he watches himself swing through buildings.

 Tony gets the details pretty fast. The boy stutters through his excuses before finally revealing that he's Spider-Man in an almost defeated tone, and Tony hums as he examines the 'spider-suit' and it's features-- which are not bad at all, actually, given the circumstances.

 "That tensile strength is off the charts. Who manufactured that?"

  "I did." Peter says, pitching the vial of said webbing at the dresser wall. Tony raises an eyebrow, impressed; this boy is clearly no ordinary high-schooler. Peter himself doesn't seem to think so, though; he looks troubled as he gazes at the clutter on his table, pointedly not meeting Tony's eyes. It's pretty endearing to him, actually, seeing Peter all flustered in his presence, so Tony continues teasing him about the suit until the boy yanks it out of his grip, clearly exasperated. He shoves it into his dresser, flushing a pretty pink, and shifts awkwardly on his feet before finally turning to face Tony.

 "It-- it's just that when whatever happened, happened... it's like my senses have been dialled to eleven, " The kid explains, and Tony can see the maturity in his eyes then. Peter takes a deep breath, hesitates. "It's way too much input," he says eventually. "So they just kinda help me focus."

 Tony looks at him. "That's why I'm here."  
After that, Peter seems to relax a little, taking a seat on his bed. It's at this moment that Tony realises how trusting the boy's eyes are, gazing at him; all hazel-flecked in the dim light of his bedroom. It falls across his face in shadows.

 "Why're you doing this?" Tony asks, and Peter shifts on his bed, eyes still wide. His mouth falls apart slightly, and Tony can't help but notice how soft those lips look, how they're cherry red-- and then he realises what he's thinking, okay what the fuck? He tears his own gaze away, heart racing. What's going on?

 "What gets you outta that twin bed in the morning?" Jesus Tony, did you have to mention his bed? Why were you even thinking about the kid's bed in the first place?  
Peter examines his hands quietly, then looks back up, and Tony can't help but look into those eyes again. Soft. Pleading, almost. For a long second they stare at each other; then Peter flicks his gaze away, swallowing; the air in the room grows heavy all of a sudden, tense. And Tony can't stop _staring_.

 "When you can do the things that I can, but you don't..." Before he can stop himself, Tony's leaning forward, arms on his knees, eyes trained on Peter--and he's sure he hears the boy's breath hitches. They're so close now Tony can see the kid's lips tremble. "And then when the bad things happen... they happen because of you."

 Tony stands up, pointedly not looking at Peter. He moves in front of him. Gestures at his bed.

 "I'm gonna sit here, so you move the leg."

  _What. Is. He. Doing._

  Peter stares up at him, then moves, leaning forward onto his elbows as he shifts to the side. Tony sits beside him, sits on the kid's bed. It's small, and their knees press together, but neither of them move away. Tony can hardly breathe now, he raises a hand over Peter's shoulder, hovering. It's painfully awkward, so he finally claps down on the hoodie, and he can feel the boy tense. Peter turns to look at Tony, warm breath fanning across his cheek-- his eyes fall on Tony's lips, then he hurriedly goes back to studying the floor.

    _Oh_.

  "You have a passport?" Tony asks, voice coming out lower than he intended it to be; _get your shit together_. Peter laughs a little uneasily.

 "Uh, no, I don't even have a driver's license--" and it's like a splash of ice-cold water to Tony's face, sharp and stinging; Peter doesn't know how to drive; isn't even old enough to drive. He's just a kid-- Tony shoves the thoughts away, asks a little forcefully,

 "You ever been to Germany?"

 "No."

 "Oh, you'll love it."

 "I can't go to Germany!" Peter bursts out, whirling around to face him. Their knees knock together, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity through his body. Tony blinks in surprise.

 "Why?" He asks, genuinely confused. The boy's eyes search his.

  "I--I got homework."

  
  O-kay, Tony didn't ask for this. His eyes roll back into his head, and he shoves off the bed.

  
  "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that." He says, even as the thoughts leap at him from the back of his mind-- he's a _kid_ , he's just a high-schooler, a kid with homework to think about. His heart twists, sinks to his stomach. What are you _doing_ , Tony?

  He reaches for the doorknob. In a blink of an eye Peter jumps up, throwing out an arm, and before Tony can react Peter shoots a web at him. There's painful silence as Tony stares at his hand webbed stuck on the door, then turns back to the boy incredulously.  
Peter's flushing a little, but he keeps his gaze firmly on Tony's.

 "Don't tell Aunt May."

 Tony blinks. A corner of his mouth quirks upward. "Alright, Spider-Man."

 They stare at each other for a moment, Peter still doe-eyed, gazing upon him in wonder, as if he can't believe Tony Stark is in his bedroom.

 Okay, that came out a little wrong.

 "Get me out of this." Tony sighs, and Peter scrambles.

 "Sorry. Let me just--"

 

 

  Eventually Peter manages to free Tony from his webbing, (all while apologising profusely for ruining his suit, even when Tony insisted that it's okay). They end up on the sofa outside again, Peter sitting stiffly on one end and Tony on the other, filling Aunt May in with all the details. Peter had been accepted for the grant, and Tony was going to take him on an internship training in Germany for a week.

  They leave in a few days time; all of the trip expenses are paid for, Tony adds. Understandably, Aunt May worriedly questions him about the supposed 'course' Peter will be in, and the logistics of the trip, but in the end it all works out and she consents.

  "Will he be okay?" she asks, and Tony falters. 

 "Yes," he says. (He doesn't add that it can't be promised.) "He'll be well taken care of, don't you worry."

 Peter glances up at him then, as if he can smell the bullshit, but doesn't say anything. For a terrifying moment Tony first considers the thought that the boy doesn't want to do this, that he's being forced into a situation he isn't ready for, and his stomach dips.

  "How old are you again, Mister Parker?" Tony asks haltingly, hoping against hope that boy just has an unusually young face for his age. Aunt May raises an eyebrow.

 "You don't know? Wasn't it in his application?"

 Before Tony can think up of a reply Peter jumps in. "Oh, I didn't-- I didn't include it," he says hastily. "In my application, I mean. I thought my age would affect my chances." He shoots a glance at Tony, and then bites at his lower lip. And Tony shouldn't, but his gaze immediately drops to the boy's mouth; he swallows. "Uh, I'm fourteen."

 Tony takes in a rattling breath, jerking his head sharply away.

 _Fourteen_.

 Guilt claws painfully up his side, eating him from the inside out. He can't do this. Tony can't bring a kid into battle, drag him into the mess that they're in right now. Peter's fourteen, Tony chants repeatedly in his head, and he wants him to help in a fight against a war criminal.

 "You're sure you want to do this? The internship, I mean." Tony asks, and Peter blinks at him, frowning.

 "Of course." He says finally. "Uh, is there-- is there anything I need to prepare beforehand?"

  Tony nods, then clears his throat. "I'll text you the details." Slipping a hand into his suit pocket, Tony pulls out a card and hands it to Peter. "My contact."

  "Oh, okay." The boy's eyes are huge as he stares at the card, cupping it in his hands as though it was gold, which Tony finds unbearably cute. Then he snaps back, blushing as he meets Tony's amused gaze. "Uh, sorry, yeah, I should probably give you my number too--" Hastily Peter grabs a notepad and scribbles down his contact, hands trembling a little, ripping it out and shoving it towards Tony. "Here."

  "Thanks." Tony takes it, deliberately brushing his fingers on Peter's palm. The boy's cheeks flush pink, ears tinted red, and Tony grins.

 

 

  In the end Tony leaves with a promise of being in touch soon, Peter still clutching the card in his hand as he waves goodbye. Tony has yet to shake off the tinge of guilt about recruiting the kid, but he reassures himself that he'll keep him safe, that he won't pressure him into doing anything he didn't want to.

  Most importantly, he has to stop staring into the kid's pretty eyes and wishing that he can kiss those soft lips, run his fingers through those dark locks.

  Tony's fucked up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! Comments and constructive criticism are much appreciated.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long to update. Tried to write this chapter from Peter's perspective, so that was a new challenge.  
> Thank you so much for the positive comments on my first chapter, really appreciate it!  
> Hope you enjoy!

 

  It's three in the morning, he's sitting on the edge of his bed, and Peter doesn't think sleep is going to come to him anytime soon. There's still a buzz in his veins, coursing through his entire body and leaving him breathless.  
   
  Tony Stark-- the Anthony Edward Stark-- had just been in his bedroom a few hours ago. Honestly Peter isn't sure if it had all been a dream, something his sick mind came up with to play a trick on him, and yet solid evidence can be seen on his table: Tony's contact card, sitting amongst the mess of papers and homework. Carefully Peter reaches out and picks it up, cradling it in his palms; the sharp edges run along his fingers, and the bite of it grounds him.

  Tony was here. Tony Stark, the man that Peter's been crazy over since the very beginning. He remembers learning in class about the boy genius who built his own engine at seven, then later went on to graduate from MIT at seventeen; his eyes glued to the television screen as the same man announces that he's Iron Man, a real-life superhero Peter had before then only read about in comics. Begging his Aunt and Uncle to bring him to the Stark Expo for his birthday-- Peter closes his eyes and he recalls the crowd, the cheers morphed into shrieks of terror as chaos broke loose; sometime during the mad rush out of the stadium, he had lost himself amongst the sea of people.

  Peter remembers standing there, alone, as one of the drones landed in front of him. He remembers the rattle of the ground beneath his feet, dark shadow falling over him; the way his breath catches behind the Iron Man mask he's wearing.

  And then he hears the whirring of repulsors behind him, sees the bright blast that slams into the drone and sends it flying to the ground. Peter jumped back and there was he was, standing so close Peter could have reached out and touched him-- and God, Peter wanted to so, so _badly_.

  "Nice work, kid," Iron Man said to him, before blasting off. Peter ripped off his mask, still trembling from the close encounter, the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat; all he could do was stare wistfully as his hero flies away.

  Unbidden, a happy laugh escapes Peter's throat, and he flops backward onto his pillows, grinning stupidly at the ceiling. He was in the same room as the man he practically worshipped since seven, had a conversation with him. And he has his number. He has Tony Stark's number, and his promise that they'll be in contact soon, and--

  The huge smile on Peter's face slips as he remembers the whole reason why Tony had been here in the first place. Oh. He sits up, sighs; reaching up and running his fingers through his dishelved hair. In all the excitement he hadn't even begun to process the thought that his secret was out-- to Tony, that is.

  Then again, he thinks, what does it matter? After all, it's not like Tony is going to use this against him; instead, he seems to be turning to Peter for help. And apparently, he's inviting him to Germany. It's too much to comprehend all at once, so squeezing his eyes shut, Peter groans and sinks his head in his hands. What happens now?

  Blinking, he glances at the card again. Tony had mentioned something earlier about texting him any further details, but was Peter just supposed to wait until then? And how on earth was he supposed to wait that long?

 

  
_'Hey kid. You free today?'_

  Peter falls out of his chair. Heads swivel towards him, eyebrows raised, and Peter flushes red at the stares, scrambling up. In front of him Flash snickers, and his teacher looks up from the whiteboard.

"Mister Parker, is there a problem?"

  "No Sir," Peter says meekly, glaring at the table as Flash continues snorting. As soon as the teacher turns away he looks down at his phone, reading the words again-- the text from Tony Stark. Faintly Peter realises he's grinning to himself, but he can't stop. Tony Stark texted him! He squeals internally, eyes scanning over the five words again and again, then bites his lip as he hurriedly types out a reply.

  ' _Hi Mr Stark. I'm in school right now but should be free the rest of the day.'_

  Tony replies a few seconds later. _'Great. I'll get someone to pick you up. Meet you at the tower later.'_

  Peter stares at the text until it finally registers in his mind: he's invited to the Avengers Tower. To meet with Tony Stark himself. Oh, my god. This can't be happening. This can't be real.

 _'Okay,'_ Peter types, then hesitates for a second before adding: ' _looking forward to it.'_ As soon as he hits send he regrets it; did he sound too needy? Too enthusiastic? God, can't you just act cool for once, Parker-- Peter's still mentally berating himself when Tony replies.

_'Same here.'_

  ~~~~Peter nearly falls out of his chair again.

 

  
  "Woah." If Peter thought the tower had looked awesome from afar, it's absolutely breathtaking up close. The building's so tall he's craning his neck up fully and still see the top disappears into the clouds, the bold 'A' sparkling in the sun. "This is..."

  "Yeah, I know kid. Real impressive." Happy says from the front seat of the car, and Peter turns around to face him, surprised; the man has barely said anything the whole ride here. Happy meets his stare with a bored look in the rearview mirror. "Now come on, Stark's waiting for you."

  "Oh, okay!" Peter says, pulling on his backpack and opening the door. In his hurry while scrambling out his foot catches on the side and he stumbles, nearly landing face first on the asphalt. Flushing red, Peter slams the door shut and turns to face Happy, who was already waiting, shooting him an exasperated look and striding towards the entrance. He trails after him, eyes huge as Happy taps a card and the door slides open. They step in, and Peter gapes as he takes in the surroundings; he's pretty sure this is the coolest room he's ever been in his whole life. Happy mumbles a warning to stay exactly where he is, then leaves.

  "Wait, what do I--"

  "Mister Parker!" Peter jumps, turning around and ohmygod there's Tony, leaning against a doorway and smirking at him. "Did I give you a scare? My bad, kid."

  "Wha..." Peter starts, but Tony's languidly walking towards him now, hands shoved in the pockets of his black suit-- those dark eyes trained on him; Peter's brain blinks out and he trails off, can only stare dumbly as Tony walks closer. The man smiles at him, reaching out and wrapping an arm around his shoulder, and Peter's heart is slamming so hard against his ribcage he can feel it in his throat; he wonders whether Mister Stark can hear it. Probably.

  "Nice to see you again." Tony claps him on his back, steering him towards the same doorway he had emerged from. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the warmth from it's seeping through Peter's hoodie and making every nerve in his body sing; he realises a little too late that he's unconsciously leaning into Tony's touch and quickly rights himself.

  "Uh, you too." Peter says, and it comes out as a squeak. Fuck. Turning to look at Tony (they're so close he can see the curl of Tony's lips, red and tantalizing), he swallows. "Thanks for... inviting me here. I mean," Peter hesitates. There's so much more he wants to say, about how much he appreciates the fact that Tony's actually with him right now; he's sure that the man has much more important things to tend to-- but when he opens his mouth to speak all that comes out is a giggle.

  He wants to die. Tony shoots him a knowing look, a corner of his lips quirked into that damn smile; and Peter's sure he's blushing inappropriately pink right now, keeping his gaze firmly on the linoleum floor. They arrive in front of an elevator and step in. Tony presses a button, then leans against the wall and crosses his arms. Peter stands awkwardly opposite him, fidgeting uncomfortably under Tony's stare, fiddling with the straps of his backpack.

  "So," Tony finally says, and Peter looks up. "You must be wondering why you're here."

  Peter blinks. "Um, yes?"

  "Well, it's for a number of reasons, actually." The elevator dings and comes to a stop, and the doors slide open; Peter follows as Tony steps out and begins striding down a hallway. "One of the most important being a discussion on the 'internship' procedures." Tony says, inserting air quotations. "You can't exactly hop on a ride to Berlin without knowing the logistics of the program-- " He stops abruptly in front of a glass panel, swipes a card, and Peter nearly chokes in excitement as he sees the room.

  "Oh my god, is this-- is this your lab--"

  "Yes," Tony says. "And don't interrupt, Mister Parker. By the way, can I call you Peter? I don't really do formal."

  "Sorry," Peter says quickly, snapping his wide-eyed gaze back to Tony. "Uh, you can call me anything you want, Mister Stark." The man pauses in his tracks, shooting him a funny look over his shoulder, clearing his throat awkwardly. Peter frowns. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing, nothing. So let's get started on the briefing, huh?" Tony says, walking over briskly to a counter and gesturing to a chair beside it. "Take a seat, come on." Peter obeys hesitantly, watching as the man settles in opposite him, crossing his arms over the table and leaning closer.

  "First things first. You're... fourteen?" Tony says questioningly, raising an eyebrow, and Peter nods. "Right. Okay. God, you're just--" Tony leans against the back of his chair now, dragging a hand across his forehead; he sighs, and under the florescent lights the dark bags under his eyes, adorning his features, look more prominent than ever. It's at this moment that Peter fully realises just how tired the man must be.

  "You don't have to feel bad, you know." Tony meets his eyes through his fingers, and Peter shifts in his seat. "I mean, about recruiting me in this and everything. Like I said yesterday, I know that things are bound to change after I got those...powers." He pauses, bites his lip. "And I just wanna be able to put them to good use, I guess."

  Tony tilts his head, scruintinizing Peter for a moment; then his lips twitch upward again. "If you say so, Parker."

  
  
  For the next hour Tony fills Peter in with all the details, explaining what exactly happened that landed them in this mess. It's a lot to take in, but Peter listens as best as he can and tries to make sense out of all of it.

  "You alright, kid?"

  "Hmm?" Peter looks up, and Tony clears his throat.

  "Listen, you don't have to worry your pretty little head about it, okay? All you gotta do is just follow the plan, and everything will be fine."

  "Uh..." Peter mumbles, but all that's looping through his mind is _'pretty little head',_ how Tony's lips form around the words; and his brain pretty much blinks out. He can only watch as the man gets up, walks over to him and leans against the counter, breath hitching at the close proximity. Slowly Peter glances up at Tony, lips parting, and he watches the older man's dark, dark eyes fall to his mouth.

  For a long second neither of them move, then Peter bites at his lip and whispers, "Mister Stark."  
  
  Tony breathes in sharply, shifts so their hips touch and his arms grip at the table behind Peter, caging him in, and all he can hear is the thumping of his own heart in his ears. Peter has dreamt about this for the majority of his entire life, and now that the man is so close all he wants to do is kiss him--

 

  It's at this moment that his phone rings in his backpack, sharp tone breaking the silence and jerking the pair apart. Tony jumps back, dragging a hand through his hair; breath rattling as he shoves away from the counter. Stumbling to his feet, Peter grabs the phone and swipes the screen, bringing it up to his ear.

  "Hey May," He says, cringing as his voice comes out shaky and higher than ever. "Yeah, I'm with Mister Stark right now--" Trailing off, Peter presses a palm to his eyes, and he can feel how hot his skin is. "Okay, got it. I'll be back soon. See you."

  Peter ends the call but doesn't dare look up, willing his blush to go away; he can hear Tony pacing behind him. What just happened?

  "I-- I've gotta go," he finally stutters, yanking his backpack over his shoulders and shoving his phone into his pocket. "Aunt May-- she's waiting for me. I didn't tell her I'll be gone that long, so yeah, she's just..."

  "Right." Tony's tone is clipped; he nods jerkily, pointedly avoiding his eyes. "We better leave before she starts to worry then."

 

  The elevator ride up is awkward, Peter fiddling with his phone, heart still racing; and he can't help but feel a sense of disappointment. Dammit, May. As the elevator doors slide open he sighs and follows Tony out. Happy's waiting for them outside, raising an eyebrow as he glances between them.

  "Is everything okay?"

  "Yes," Tony replies hastily. "Just send the kid back. His Aunt's waiting."

  Happy frowns at him for a moment, then shrugs and turns to leave. As Peter hurriedly follows after him Tony calls out:

  "Wait, Peter."

  He glances back at the man, swallowing the lump in his throat; bracing himself for the worst. "Yeah?"

  But all Tony does is give him a small smile, "Text me." Peter stares at him, then starts to grin. He nods.

   
  Did he mention he has a tiny crush on Tony Stark? 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! Comments and constructive criticism are much appreciated.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I really want to apologise for the late update. School's been impossibly hectic lately and I just didn't have the time to properly write this out. That said, I finally did it, thanks to your encouraging comments.This chapter's a little different, but I hope you like it! ;)

 

  What a surprise, Tony Stark screwed up again. He just can't do anything right, can he? The disastrous fight ends with Rogers and Barnes escaping anyway, leaving behind a broken team and him hunched over his unconscious best friend. After rushing Rhodey to the hospital and rounding up all the injured (most of them can't even look at Tony, and he tries to ignore the lump in his throat, he tries), he walks out of the ward dead exhausted and ready to cry. Then Tony sees the kid curled up on a seat outside, and he leans against the door frame watching as Peter gingerly presses an ice pack to his arm, as his face contorts into a painful wince; and bitter regret claws at him.

  
  "Peter," Tony calls, and the boy looks up, startled; once he sees that it's him though, he instantly relaxes, mouth curling up into a weak smile that Tony returns. "You okay, kid?"

  "Huh? Oh, yeah," Peter says, hurriedly removing the ice pack and yanking down his sweater sleeve; then meets Tony's concerned gaze. "I'm okay, really, Mister Stark."

  Biting his lip, Tony walks closer, and before he can stop himself he reaches out, brushing a hand down the boy's arm with careful fingers. He feels the boy stiffen under his touch, then relax, leaning closer to him. Tony swallows, asks lowly, "does it hurt?"

  "No," Peter mumbles, "I'm fine," and if he were anyone else Tony would have believed the kid but he doesn't; after all, he's been telling everyone the same lies. Still Tony doesn't say anything, instead just nods and decides the drop the matter.

  "Let's send you back home, yeah?" Giving Peter's arm a gentle squeeze, he meets the boy's gaze and smiles. "Come on, I'll go with you."

  "Really? You don't have to, you know. I mean, you must be pretty busy..."

  "Well, I want to," Tony raises an eyebrow, adds teasingly, "Unless, of course, you don't want me to--"

  "No!" Peter says hastily, then flushes as he sees Tony's smirk, clearing his throat. "I mean, that would be great. Thank you."

 

  
  The car ride is silent, Tony staring out of the window and watching the houses blur by. He can feel the kid shifting beside him on the seat, twitching and fumbling with his phone, uncharacteristically quiet, and Tony can't help it; his eyes dart towards Peter, gaze landing on the darkening bruise adorning his left cheek, a fresh wave of guilt crashing over him again. What was he _thinking_ , recruiting a fourteen year old into battle? Tony remembers how hard the boy had landed on the ground after being flung through the air, arms flailing in a panic, and his stomach twists. God, if Peter had been badly hurt-- Tony shoves the thought away forcefully, choosing to focus instead on the boy's phone and its blinking camera light. He reaches out to take it from Peter, who swivels to look at him with huge eyes.

  "What're you doing, a video diary?" He asks, examining the screen in amusement. The kid ducks his head, a visible blush rising up his cheeks even in the dim lighting in the car, and Tony hands him his phone back, adding, "It's alright."

  "I told him not to do it," Happy chimes exasperatedly from the front, "he was filming everything, we should destroy the chip--"

  "Hey, hey," Tony reassures the worried teen. "You know what? Actually should make an alibi for your Aunt anyways, right?" Sliding off his sunglasses, he glances up at Peter, beckoning him over. "Come on, get in the frame."

  The boy hesitates for a second before shifting closer, adjusting himself beside Tony; who not-so-accidentally leans forward so their shoulders brush together. Peter swallows, casts a cautious look at him before focusing on the camera with an awkward grin, but all that's going through Tony's head right now is how fucking close he is to the kid that he can smell the strawberry-scented shampoo in his hair; and _dammit_ they're filming this, pull your shit together Tony, think up of something quick--

  "Hey May, how you doing? What're you wearing, something skimpy I hope."

  Peter turns to stare at him, brows scrunched together adorably in a frown, and Tony can't help but burst out laughing at the utterly aghast expression on his face. "Okay, that's inappropriate." Briefly touching Peter's shoulder, he realises with a jolt just how close they are and unbidden the image of a different person pops up in Tony's mind, a certain boy scantily clad and blushing all prettily for him-- _god, no._ Fuck. He nearly chokes on his spit, laughter trailing off as he lets his arm fall from Peter's shoulder. "Let's start over, you can edit it..."

 

  They end up recording another video, Tony trying his hardest to keep a straight face and just say the rehearsed words that sound choppy and forced even to him. His chest is pressed against the boy's back, and he's painfully aware of his own heartbeat, which still hasn't slowed since the beginning of the damn car ride. After ending the recording neither of them move away, both still huddled together on the backseat, arms brushing alongside each other and knees knocking with every jolt of the car; Tony biting back his full-blown grins at Peter's tiny giggles as they joke about Happy (much to the driver's chargin), and when they finally come to a stop outside of the apartment Tony can't help but feel a wave of sadness at seeing Peter leave.

  
  "I get to keep the suit?" He says in awe, eyes wide in wonder and joy, and something in Tony's heart squeezes as it becomes painfully apparent, yet again, that he's talking to a kid. A fourteen year old kid.

  "Yes, we were just talking about it." Tony clears his throat, tearing his gaze away from Peter's and sliding on his sunglasses again. "Do me a favour though, don't do anything stupid. Alright?"

  "Yes." Peter blurts, face set in such a dead serious expression that Tony jokes further, "Don't do anything I would do. And definitely don't do anything I wouldn't do."-- and the focused look fades into confusion now, the boy frowning as he desperately tries to comprehend Tony's advice-- "There's a little grey area there, and that's where you operate."

  "Wait, does that mean I'm an Avenger-"

  "No." Blatant, but to the point. Tony's already fucked the kid up enough, he doesn't need to make it worse; if one thing's for sure, he's not going to put this kid into even more danger. He can't.  
  
  "So, when's our next...'retreat'? You know, like..." Peter trails off, face lit up with excitement as he inserts air quotations into his question, and his enthusiasm is just too precious for Tony to handle.

  "What, you mean the missions? We'll call you. Alright?" The boy's still staring at him, so before he can stop himself he leans in and wraps an arm around Peter, who makes a tiny noise at the back of his throat before gingerly slinging his arm around Tony's back and holy shit, all he wants to do is press the boy against the seat and kiss down his neck, make him whimper, and Christ if Tony doesn't pull away now he's pretty sure he won't be able to stop himself from doing just that. 

  "That's not a hug, I'm just grabbing the door for you," He says hurriedly, swinging open said door and leaning back against his seat. He can feel Peter's heavy gaze on him, and when Tony shoots a quick look at the boy there's a mix of confusion and frustration in those eyes; the same dark eyes that stare pointedly at his mouth now, and fuck it, Tony's not one to back down from a challenge. Slowly he runs a tongue across his lips, those dark pupils watching him intently before moving back up to his eyes.

  Interesting.

  He arches a brow at Peter, who flushes crimson before finally turning away, grabbing his backpack and stepping out; but not before Tony notes the slight tremor in his arms.

 

  Fingers wrapping around his glass, Tony swirls it in his grip, staring as the liquid spills over the lip, ice cubes clinking. This is, what, his fifth drink now? Surely Rhodey won't approve; but he isn't here, anyways. Tony flinches as he thinks about his friend lying on that hospital bed, tangled in tubes connected to whirring machines, and he downs the entire glass in one gulp before slamming it down on the table. His chair creaks as he pushes himself up, rubbing his temples in an attempt to relieve the pounding headache that only seems to be getting worse. Maybe a shower will help-- it's not like he's going to sleep anytime soon.

  Tony stumbles into his bathroom, catching a glimpse of dishelved hair and dark eye bags in the mirror. Christ, what time is it? He looks like shit (then again, he always does). Turning on the tap, he stands under the pelting water and leans against the cool shower wall, closing his eyes. His wounds bite and sting under the hot water, muscles aching from the fight earlier, and Tony groans, willing his mind to think of something else.

  Of course, he ends up thinking about _Peter_ , how the boy had looked under the dim yellow light of overhead lamps, streaking in the car window; how he had laughed at Tony's jokes, how his breath hitched when he had touched him-- and god, Tony wanted to kiss him so fucking badly. He thinks back to just the day before, when they were alone in his lab and Tony had lost control for a few brief seconds, crowded the boy against the counter; how they were so close that Tony could smell the sweetness of the Peter's breaths, sticky with coffee, and how his dark pupils were blown so wide, watching him.

  Fuck.

  He shouldn't. He _can't_.

  Peter's fourteen. Tony's fantasizing about a fourteen year old and that's messed up on so many levels, but somehow he just can't bring himself to care anymore. 

 _"Fuck it,"_ Tony growls, spitting into his palm and reaching down to wrap a hand around his cock; arching his back at the jolt of pleasure from the touch. His next breath coming out in a shaky exhale, he squeezes his eyes shut, pumping himself steadily, twisting his fist; and Tony finally, finally allows himself to imagine. He imagines the boy on his bed, knees pressed against the mattress, long legs tangling in the bed sheets, all pale skin and lithe limbs, and a moan punches its way out of his throat. The sound reverberates off the walls, loud enough to jolt Tony and allow his actions to be painfully clear; he's jerking off to a kid.

  For a moment, guilt crashes over him and his stomach lurches, and he almost stops.

  Almost.

  Then Tony pictures those chocolate-brown eyes, gaze always so soft and eager to please; he thinks of candy red lips parting around a whimper, of messy curls that Tony wants to bury his fingers in, use as a grip to guide Peter close, and he almost loses it. Oh, the sounds the boy will make; all high pitched moans and cries, begging him for his cock--

  Abandoning all attempts to keep quiet, Tony thrusts into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut, and with a final swipe of his thumb over the head he comes with a shout. Come splatters over his chest, dripping down his side with the steady stream of water, and Tony's legs nearly give out. "Fuck, fuck."

  Oh god.

  Shakily, chest heaving, Tony increases the water pressure to the point that it's almost painful, droplets pelting on his body and washing away the last of the stickiness from his skin. His heart's pounding so hard he can hear his blood rushing through his veins, pleasure still pumping in his body. Finally Tony steps out of the shower, boneless, towelling off before crawling into bed, and right before he falls asleep his last thought is that he's probably going to hell.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's pretty short, but I promise that I'll update again next week. Please let me know what you think about it in the comments!


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments, they're a great motivation and I appreciate every single one of them. Hope you like this chapter!

 

  One month.

  One whole month of waiting, like a little child anticipating Santa's arrival on Christmas-- his phone always in his peripheral vision, never out of sight; heart slamming erratically against his chest everytime he comes home, hoping against hope to see the man lounging on his sofa as he once did all that time ago (it feels like forever).

  And Peter knows, _dammit_ he knows that he's being absolutely pathetic. What did he expect, for Tony Stark to actually call him, drop by for a visit? The man's got other better things to do, like being high up in his office in the Avengers tower sorting out paperwork or advocating for world peace in conference rooms...or something of the sort. Still Peter can't help but lunge for his phone whenever it chimes, eyes scanning the screen for the contact that he had typed in with shaky fingers three months ago. And every single time he does so it ends with inevitable disappointment, him swallowing the hard lump in his throat and violently stamping down the urge to cry.

  Yet he never learns. Occasionally Peter pulls open his bedside drawer to stare at the contact card positioned carefully inside, the one Tony had given him, and he swears he can almost feel the warm touch of rough fingers along his palm, the secret glint in the man's eyes with a devilish smirk to match; and the stupid butterflies in his stomach flutter again.

  
  It happened a few weeks after the Berlin trip, a few weeks since their last encounter. His room felt stuffier than usual, and he'd been shifting around on his bed for the past few hours with no hope of sleep coming. Finally giving up, Peter reached for his phone, squinting at the bright screen in the darkness of his bedroom as he scrolled through the camera roll; chuckling affectionately at the photos of Ned with his impressive Lego collection. And then he came to a video clearly taken in a moving vehicle, footage shaky and unsteady, and a sharp breath punched out of him as he realised with a jolt what it is.

  _'What're you doing, a video diary?'_ The deep voice resonated from the speakers, and Peter bit his lip hard as Tony appears on screen, looking as flawless as ever in his pressed suit and aviator sunglasses that probably cost more than Peter's entire life insurance, infuriatingly sexy half-smirk on his face. God, the video from the car... he hadn't dared to watch it, but couldn't bear to delete it either. Swallowing, Peter watched as the older man takes off his sunglasses, staring into the camera with dark, dark eyes that make him want to whimper. He shifted uncomfortably on the duvet, eyes fixed intently on the screen, and it just happened.

  It wasn't the first time he had done it to the thought of Tony, of course, but it felt so much more real this time round, and being around him is no longer just a fantasy. The whole thing was messy, inelegant; Peter sucking on his fingers almost desperately, barely getting them spit-slick before bringing them down to his fluttering hole. The jolt of pleasure wrenched a cry from his throat, and his eyes widened in panic as he hurriedly bit down on a pillow to muffle his whines, twisting and tangling in his sheets. It had felt so good, so perfect with the video still playing and Tony's low voice in the background, and Peter imagined the man sitting on his bed right now, those eyes on him, and he wants so _badly_.

  He gasped, back arching to meet the uncoordinated thrusts of his fingers; god, how he wished they were Tony's instead-- and if he wasn't in such a state he'd be embarrassed of the absolutely shrewd noises coming out of him; as it is, however, Peter couldn't think of anything else other than Tony. He's not entirely clueless, he knows how the man feels about him; the hidden intention behind heavy gazes and every subtle touch. And it's this confirmation in his mind of _'ohmygod, Tony Stark actually wants me'_ that pushed him over the edge, had him sobbing out his release.

  The shame only came after, as he wiped the mess from himself and curled up on bed again, body sated but thoughts racing in his mind. He should stop, Peter told himself that night, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. This can't go on any longer, he should stop before it's too late; and he did try, at least for a day, before he had played the video yet again, closing his eyes and listening to Tony's warm laughter and rough tone, yearning twisting deep in his stomach.

 

  It's almost like an addiction, and Peter's hooked on the high.

 

  
  "...And so I was like, what'd you expect to happen when you do something so stupid? Anyways, I'm just glad it's over-- Peter, you even listening to me, dude?"

  "What? Sorry, I wasn't..." Peter says, sheepishly turning to look at his friend and shoving his phone into his pocket.

  Rolling his eyes, Ned just sighs. "Listening? Yeah, that was pretty obvious." He pulls out some books from his locker, then turns and meets Peter's worried look. "Hey, it's fine man. You okay? You seem pretty out of it lately."

  "Yeah, just kinda busy I guess," he replies, feeling a twinge of guilt at his friend's concern. "Sorry," he adds, but all he receives is a comforting smile.

  "It's alright, I understand. Managing school and the internship's gotta be taxing." Ned slams his locker shut, and Peter blinks in confusion at him.

  "Wha... oh, yeah! It is," Peter finally says, unable to meet his eyes. "Hey, uh, I gotta go, May's waiting for me." Which is yet another lie, she told him earlier today that she's meeting up with a friend and won't be back until dinner.

  "Sure bud. See you tomorrow," Ned calls as he turns to leave, and Peter waves back half heartedly. Sometimes he wishes he could tell Ned everything; that will make things much simpler. He sighs, adjusting his backpack and walking down the school steps. Just as he's about to head back a car drives up behind him, pulling to a stop dangerously close to the curb and with a loud honk that makes him jump. Before Peter can even react the driver's window slides open, and holy shit.

  "Hi," Tony Stark says casually from behind the wheel, as though talking to some kid outside of their school's a normal occurrence to him. "Classes just ended?"

  Peter just stares. Faintly he realises that his mouth is hanging open and his hands are shaking. "Um, yeah," he finally answers. Smooth, Parker.

  "Alright. Hop on." With that, the tinted window slides shut and Peter looks at his own wide-eyed reflection in it before snapping out of his daze and hurriedly walking over to the passenger's side. He opens the door, awkwardly slides in and shuts it, secures his seatbelt with a click; then finally taking a deep breath, he cautiously looks at the man beside him.

  "Hi?" Peter says slowly. Tony glances at him through the darkened lenses of his sunglasses, but doesn't say anything and the silence grows awkward. "Uh, what are you doing here--"

  "You hungry? I know this diner place that serves pretty good stuff," Tony interrupts, and Peter blinks at him. "We can go there."

  "Um." He pauses. "Sure?"

 

  
  A half hour later they're seated in a booth in a quiet diner, seated opposite each other while a bored-looking waiter waits for their order. Tony's examining the menu closely, humming as he looks over the choices while Peter stares at the man in front of him with huge eyes. This can't be happening; what even is happening? He's in a diner. With Tony Stark. He isn't sure if he should cry or scream.

  "Hey, you want anything?" Peter snaps out of his reverie at Tony's question, tearing his gaze away from the man to glance at his menu.

  "Uh, I think I'll just have...a milkshake? A vanilla one. Thanks." Cringing inwardly, he curses his inability to form proper sentences. Really, Peter? In front of the man he's been obsessively thinking about for a month now?

  "Coffee please. Just the regular." As the waiter turns to leave, Tony finally turns to look at Peter for the first time since he had entered his goddamned car and adds, "Their coffee tastes like heaven," leaning back against his seat and casually surveying the surroundings, and Peter's had enough.

  "Why did you bring me here?" He blurts out, and Tony raises an eyebrow at him. He immediately backtracks, "I mean, thank you, really, but is something wrong? You said-- you said that you'll call--" Shut up, Peter tells himself, you sound like a needy child right now, and he trails off.

  Tony doesn't seem fazed by his outburst however, just shrugs. "Well first off, everything's fine and dandy, if you're wondering; there's no need to throw on your spidey suit. And, well, I brought you here because I really like this place, which means a lot coming from me. My standards are high, you know," he jokes, and Peter can't help laugh a little at that, tension in the air diffusing a little. He sinks back into his chair, head still swimming in confusion; and in all the initial shock at the surprise visit it finally comes to mind only now that holy shit, Tony's here. He's with Tony in real life again-- he's not just an shaky image on screen.

  Then Peter remembers that incident with a jolt, memories of stifled whimpers and what he did that night in his bed to crappy footage of the man in front of him right now all come back.

  Fuck. He wants to die. Peter's sure he's blushing impossibly red, and can he please not think of that right now? His eyes are fixated on the table but he can feel the weight of Tony's eyes on him, and it's just so painfully awkward. Luckily their order arrives then, and Peter can't be sure but Tony looks a little uncomfortable as he reaches for his coffee. For a few moments it's silent expect for the clinks of his spoon against the mug as he stirs his drink, and the crinkle of Peter's straw.

  
  "So," Tony eventually says, and Peter immediately looks up at him. "How's school been lately?"

  "Oh. It's okay," he shrugs, taking a sip of his milkshake. "Just the usual classes and all that." He pauses before adding, "actually I've been spending more time, you know..."

  "Fighting crime?" Tony finishes for him with a small chuckle. "How's that going for you, by the way? Everything alright?"

  "Hmm? Yeah, definitely. It's fun," Peter says. "The suit's great, I really love it-- actually, I don't think I've thanked you yet for all the improvements..." Tony waves a hand nonchalantly, cutting him mid-sentence.

  "No problem, it's just a few minor adjustments. As I said, you needed some upgrades." He shrugs, drinks his coffee, and Peter smiles as he groans, "Ohmygod, I really needed this."

  "Tired?"

  "Work has been pretty hectic, so sleep's kinda out of the question for me these past few days," Tony sighs. "I've been working on some new tech, so there's a lot of new systems to implement and all that."

  "Really?" Interest piquing, Peter asks, "what is it about?"

  "You really wanna know?" Tony raises an eyebrow, but when Peter nods in confirmation he doesn't question further, just shrugs and begins, "Well, it's based on this prototype that I've been working on, but there were a few maintainance issues that had been identified so we had to modify..." And the man trails off into his detailed explanation, Peter hanging onto every word he says in wonderment. For the next hour they're engaged in conversation, and Peter's so absorbed in everything Tony's saying that he subconsciously starts playing with his straw. It's not until Tony trails off in the middle of a sentence, eyes fixated on his mouth that he finally realises that he's biting at his straw. Oops. He releases it from his lips self-consciously, flushing a little.

  "Sorry, I've got terrible manners," Peter laughs, "May's always told me not to do that--"

  "You've got some milkshake on your lip," Tony interjects in a strangled voice, and Peter's hands immediately fly to his face.

  "Where?" He wants to ask, but before he can react the man's grabbing a tissue and reaching forward over the table, and an embarrassing squeak escapes him. Tony's breath tastes of bitter coffee, and Peter swallows audibly as he leans closer until he can feel his warm breath across his cheek. Gently Tony brushes a thumb along his upper lip, wiping the stain away and Peter can't help but lean into the touch. Dark eyes run hungrily across his face, land on his mouth, and a finger hooks under his chin.

 _Oh god._ Is this real? It's finally happening, fuck, don't screw it up Peter. Nervously he leans into the touch, blood pounding in his ears as a soft whimper escapes him.

  The moment's over in a second.

  
  Tony tears away from him, jerks back so fast he nearly knocks his coffee mug off the table. Still dazed, Peter watches as the man winces visibly, run a hand through his hair. "Fuck," he mutters, and as he reaches for his drink his fingers shake. Peter's heart sinks.

  "Mister Stark--"

  A jolt, as if his words are like live wire. Tony looks at him, eyes filled with anguish and frustration and undeniable lust. A shiver runs through him, cold and electrifying. Tony opens his mouth as if to speak, then shuts it.

  "I'm sorry," is all he says, and ridiculously tears start to form in Peter's eyes, blurring his vision. Shit. He can't cry. Not now.

  "But..."

  "Just, don't," Tony takes a deep breath, stands up abruptly. "Let's go. We have to go," he repeats to himself, pressing the heel of his palms to his eyes, and when he looks up he more tired than ever.

 

  
  The whole car ride Peter stares out of the window, watching the blur of buildings pass by. The air's tense, uncomfortable; and when they finally reach his apartment all Peter wants to do is go to his room and sleep, forget this day ever happened. He grabs his backpack, unbuckles his seatbelt, opens the door; Tony keeping his eyes fixed on the steering wheel the whole time. With a hand on the door Peter at last turns to look at him. He can't just leave like this, not when he doesn't even know the next time he'll see Tony-- who knows? This might be the last time they ever meet.The uncertainty of that is so painful it almost hurts, and he thinks helplessly, _say something. Anything._

  "Thanks," he finally mumbles, and he wants to say so much more but the words are stuck in his throat. Tony turns to look at him then, eyes searching his and for a moment the man looks almost afraid, defeated; it passes over in a split second though, and his gaze changes to something almost distant.

  "No problem kid," Tony says, words stiff and forced.

 

  
  Peter steps out and watches the car drive away, and he feels more hopelessly hooked than ever.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated. I wont be able to update next week due to exams, sorry!


	5. *update*

Hey! This isn't a new chapter I'm afraid, I just wanted to share my thoughts with you. I'm thinking of just abandoning this work, because the plot seems too generic and well, boring. Idk, I just don't think anyone will enjoy reading it. Will you guys please share your opinions on whether I should continue? I'd greatly appreciate it.

Update: I'm continuing this fic! Thank you all for the encouraging comments, and the brilliant ideas. I truly appreciate it.


	6. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the encouraging comments, they mean a lot to me! Here's the fifth chapter, it's a tad bit more dialougue heavy than the others.

   He wakes to the sounds of curtains swishing open, painfully bright streaks of light spilling in and warming up his face instantly. Something unintelligible falls from his mouth; he doesn't even recall moving his lips.

   "Tony."

   Rolling over, he squishes his nose into the pillow under his head.

   "Tony, get up."

   "Unnhhhhh." God, his breath reeks. There's a sour taste in his mouth, and a curled strand of hair sticks to his cheek. He feels like utter shit.

   And then, as if everything weren't bad enough, something cold and wet splashes onto his neck. It seeps into the back of his shirt, and a stray droplet slides into his ear. " _What the_ \-- what the fuck!" Tony yelps, sitting up and blindly grabbing his blanket to wipe away the mess. "The hell? What was that?"

   "A wake up call," the voice replies. Slowly he opens his eyes to squint at the slightly blurry figure beside his bed. Rhodey. Right. His best friend's leaning against the silver crutch Tony had gotten him, a deep furrow between his eyebrows; the classic look of disappointment. An empty glass sits on the nightstand, along with a jug of water. The back of Tony's throat aches painfully, as though reminding him of just how thirsty he is. He swipes a tongue over his cracked bottom lip, looking purposefully at the drink, and Rhodey groans in exasperation.

   Refilling the glass, the man picks it up and shoves it towards him, splashing some water over his chest and pillow. He raises an eyebrow as Tony sips carefully from the rim, letting loose obnoxious slurping sounds; that look of utter irritation would be funnier if it wasn't for his pounding headache.

   "Alright," Tony sighs, giving up all pretense. "Lay it on me, come on."

   "I don't even know what to say. This has been going on for, what, two weeks?"

   "And a half."

   "You should go out, get some fresh air. You've been cooped up in the lab way too long."

   "That's because I've been working," Tony says slowly. "you know that--"

   "--On your new project, yes. What I don't get is why the hell you're throwing yourself at it in that god awful way of yours again," Rhodey replies impatiently. At the blank stare of response he adds, "Do I need to spell it out for you? Self-destructive behavior, Tones."

   "Nope. Nuh-uh. No way."  
  
   "Then what is it?" Rhodey asks, a tinge of desperation creeping into his tone. "Look, I know that with the whole avengers... thing, after what happened with Rog--"

   "Don't say his name," Tony snaps, blind anger welling up in his chest and catching him by surprise. "And fuck no, it's not about him. Or any of them, for the matter. It's nothing, you're blowing this completely out of proportion!"

  There's quiet. He looks down at the empty glass in his hands, suddenly overcome with the urge to throw it against the wall or something. Or cry. Maybe both.

  "Tones," Rhodey says, gentle yet unwavering. "Look at me." He does. "Listen. I care for you, okay? You know I always do. And if I'm going to trust you on this I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me you're fine. That's all that matters."

   Tony stares at him, thoughts swirling through his muddled mind, the truth a painful lump in his throat. No, it's not about Steve. He kind of wishes it was, for once. He wonders how his best friend would react, if he said aloud all the thoughts that have been plaguing his mind for months, heavy and intrusive; thoughts about warm brown eyes and soft flouncy hair and spiderwebs. How all the 'slaving over his tech in his lab twenty hours a day' didn't help in keeping the thoughts out anyway, tantalising snippets of a boy, kissing thin-curved lips, of breathy, pleading moans.

   Of a _fourteen_ year old.

   "I'm fine. You're right, this has gone overboard, I get it. I'll just..." Tony trails off.

   "Go out," Rhodey offers. "Go for a run, crash a party, whatever. Have some fun, will you? Don't take this the wrong way, but you're a depressing piece of shit right now."

   He can't help the snort escapes him; his lips twitch. "Okay. Gotcha."

   That earns him a small smile, though Rhodey's eyes are still clouded with worry. "Atta boy. Now get up and take a shower, you stink."

 

   As soon as the other man leaves he drops his heavy head in his hands with a groan. He can't go on like this. He won't. It's one thing to be a fucking dirty old man and fantasize about a high-schooler, sure, but it's another thing to get so hung up over the boy. And it's another thing _entirely_ to drive up to Peter's school, invite him to an impromptu date, then get unbelievably aroused in the middle of a fucking diner imagining the boy sucking him off, cheeks hollowing, happy sounds escaping his filled mouth, lips stained milky white.

   What was he thinking? He wants to kick himself. Wants to throw his body into freezing dark waters, just sink to the deepest darkest depths of the ocean. God knows he deserves it.

   Tony sighs aloud, flopping back onto bed; wincing as his head pounds punishingly. He needs to completely let go, even for a night. Stop thinking altogether. If Rhodey wants him out, fine. He knows exactly where to go.

 

* * *

 

   The bar is considerably busy, the low hum of music drifting through the darkened club, air heavy with booze. Orange light beams onto the smooth countertop, ringed with coasters and upturned glasses; flickering over sleazy eyes watching from over the rim of their glass. It's comforting, and as Tony nurses his second glass of bourbon, shades on with a dark hoodie yanked over his head, he allows himself to finally slip away into the ease, built-up tension leaving his muscles.

    Across the counter, someone catches his eye. It's dark, but Tony can just make out pale skin and tussled hair, bright steady eyes which hold his gaze. Lips twitching into a smirk, Tony lifts his glass and downs the last of his drink. He motions over the bartender.

   "Old Fashioned, please. And get that guy over there a drink for me, will you? Anything he wants."

   The woman hands him his cocktail, then heads over to the mystery guy, who whispers something back to her and smiles at Tony. It's a cute smile. The bitter liquor burns down his throat, settling heavy in his stomach. His move.

   As the stranger saunters over, drink in hand, gait smooth and elegant, Tony's struck with a strong, strange sense of familiarity. Shaking it off, he glances up into glassy sky-blue eyes. All that registers in his head is that it's someone sweet, and young.

   Perfect.

   "Hi," the boy purrs, sliding into the seat next to him.

   By now Tony's tipsy, if not a little drunk. The other boy smells faintly of cigarettes and strawberries. "Hey there."

   "Thanks for the champagne." His voice is soft, and as he speaks his thin mouth turn upwards slightly. "So what's Iron-Man doing in a crappy hidden bar downtown?"  
  
   "That obvious, huh?" Tony chuckles lowly, reaching up to slide off his sunglasses; without it everything is much brighter, and he finally gets a good look at the boy. His hair's a gold brown, messy curls falling over his ears. Dressed in a dark shirt and ripped jeans that hang low over his hips, he looks effortlessly gorgeous... and undeniably _young_. He doesn't look a day over sixteen.

   "The goatee kinda gives it away. And you're also, like, really hot." The boy takes a sip of his drink, then licks the remaining amber liquid off pouty red lips.

  Tony's fingers clench tighter around his glass, eyes tracking the young boy's swallow of scotch, long column of his neck tantalizingly pale, unmarked. "Nice to meet you..."

   "Michael. And the pleasure's all mine-- I've always wanted to meet Tony Stark up close." Michael smiles, and it's almost shy, compared to the coy, confident look a few moments ago. Somehow it's even more captivating, and Tony finds the breath knocked out of him.

   He finishes his drink, beckons for another. "How old are you?"

   "Nineteen."

   The scoff escapes him before Tony can stop himself. "You sure?"

   Michael laughs lightly, seemingly unfazed by his doubt. "Well, I'm certainly old enough to drink, aren't I? I'm not, you know..." he trails off suggestively, softly biting on his bottom lip. "If you're asking what I think you are."

   Tony swallows. This feels weird, _wrong_ , even though the boy is technically legal. Faint alarm bells are ringing in his head, though he can't fathom why. "You look..."

   "Underage? Like jailbait? I've heard it all before.That's what makes me desirable, is what I'm often told." Is the breathy response. Leaning in close, warm breath tickles his cheek. He smiles, and Tony's mind fills with imagines of another pair of lips, honey brown eyes. "Am I right, Mr. Stark?"

   And then they're kissing, tongues hot and wet, teeth clashing. Tony shudders, inhales and takes in the sharpness of alcohol between their shared breaths. His hands fly up to card through long strands of hair, then flutter to settle on a narrow waist. His elbow nearly knocks Michael's champagne flute over. The boy is eager, almost desperate as he loops his arms around Tony's shoulders to pull him closer.

   "Hold on," Tony gasps, breaking away for a moment. The room seems to dip and sway. "We're not doing this here, there's a motel just down the road--"

   "Right." Disentangling himself from around Tony, Michael grins.  "Let's get the hell outta here."

 

* * *

 

   The next time Tony awakes again is to the sound of gentle shuffling around the room. His eyes flutter open, and the first thing he registers is how-- pleasantly-- sore he is. Then it hits him that he's definitely not on his Savoir mattress. And also the fact that he's naked under the covers.

    _Jesus_ , how drunk was he last night?

   Rolling over, Tony catches sight of a boy with his back turned to him, floppy waves of light brown hair curling around the nape of his neck; pale lean muscles and a knobby spine leading to crumpled, unbuttoned jeans-- and his next intake of breath catches so hard in his lungs he actually chokes. _God, no._ For a split second the name pops up in his mind, reaches the tip of his tongue, then the boy turns.

   "Hey, you're awake. I was just about to leave," Michael says, face flushed a slight red. His voice is more raspy than what Tony remembered from last night. "Did I wake you up? My bad."

   "No," Tony murmurs, pressing the heel of his palms to his eyes. Reaching for his phone from the nightstand, he scrolls through some messages from Rhodey, squints at the time. Michael bends down to pick up his discarded shirt, then tugs it on; the low-cut collar barely hiding the smattering of bruising hickeys from their night before. Tony's pretty sure there's pink scratches down his back courtesy of the boy as well, from the way it stings slightly as he moves to sit up. "You okay?"

   "Sure. It was awesome," the boy smirks. "Best sex of my life."

   Tony huffs out a laugh, stretching and starting to redress himself as well. Michael finishes tying his shoes, then swipes a notepad from the little desk and scribbles something down. Ripping it off, he goes over to Tony, handing the slip of paper to him.

   "My number," Michael says, then looks at him with soft blue eyes. "And I hope things solve themselves soon for you. About that boy."

   His throat goes dry. "What boy...? There's no--"

   Michael just smiles sadly at him. "You said someone's name last night. And I may look like one, but I'm not a dumb little kid. I see the way you look at me; like you wish I was someone else."

   Tony feels like he's about to cry. What has he done? He was supposed to cast Peter out of his mind, just for one night. Just _one_ night. And he can't even do that. 

   The other boy must notice his glassy eyes. "It's alright. Like I said, I'm used to it. And I kinda... imagined you to be someone else too. Someone I can't have," he admits, gazing down at his shoes.

   And despite it all, the horrible truth that settles hollow in his bones, Tony laughs weakly. "We're all fucked up people, huh?"

   "Yeah, we are." Cracking a final smile, Michael presses a soft kiss to the corner of Tony's mouth. "Good-bye, Tony."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s I imagined Michael to be a young Jamie Bell, who holy shit if you aren't aware, looks creepily identical to Tom Holland.  
> Leave a comment if you wanna, I would love some feedback!


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